


If I Fall, You Will Catch Me

by quetzalaten



Category: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel - Michael Scott
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29475936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quetzalaten/pseuds/quetzalaten
Summary: Machiavelli and Dagon go for a late night swim.
Relationships: Dagon/Niccolò Machiavelli (Nicholas Flamel)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	If I Fall, You Will Catch Me

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is all romantic fluffy stuff, the smut won't start till the next chapter.

Niccolò Machiavelli sighed, rubbing his eyes.

He had been writing for hours, staring at his computer screen. _I have to get this done_ , he thought to himself, glaring at the words on the open document in front of him. He was exhausted, and it was becoming hard to focus on his work. The sky had grown dark outside of the window of his study, and the harsh glow from the computer was starting to hurt Niccolò’s eyes.

_I need a break._

Getting up from his desk, Machiavelli closed his computer. He walked over to the door of his study, and looked outside of the room.

“Dagon?” he called. Not hearing a response, the Italian made his way through the house, down to the pool where the fish-man spent most of his free time.

As Machiavelli entered the room, he heard the other man swimming through the water. Dagon was doing laps around the pool, his form graceful as he moved. Niccolò felt himself relaxing as he watched his partner.

The fish-man’s deep sepia complexion looked even darker in the dim lighting, causing him to almost disappear underwater. Machiavelli had to squint to make out his shape moving in the pool, only able to see him when he swam into the moonlight that was coming through the window.

“ _Bu_ _o_ _na sera_ ,” Machiavelli said, smiling at the fish-man.

“You are still up?” Dagon said, looking at the Italian incredulously. “Why do you sound so surprised?” Machiavelli laughed, sitting on the edge of the pool.

“Niccolò, it is after midnight. Even you need to sleep sometimes,” the fish-man said, swimming over to Machiavelli.

Niccolò shrugged, “I’m not tired.”

Dagon blinked slowly, “You look like you are going to fall asleep standing up.” Machiavelli chuckled, “Perhaps a swim would wake me up. You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“Why are you really here?” the fish-man asked.

Machiavelli rolled up the legs of his pants, and stuck his feet into the water, “I just thought that I would pay you a visit.”

Dagon splashed Niccolò with water. “Hey!” the Italian yelped, “This shirt is expensive, I don’t want to get it wet.”

“Take it off then,” Dagon said, his smile revealing sharp teeth. Machiavelli sighed, “If you insist.” He unbuttoned his shirt, and draped it on a chair.

“Is that better?” the immortal asked, turning back to the other man. Dagon nodded, “Much better.” Machiavelli felt his face flush. He was about to say something back to his partner, when Dagon grabbed his waist and slowly pulled him into the pool. Laughing, Niccolò held on to Dagon’s shoulders, letting the fish-man carry him down into the water. Years of living with Dagon had made Machiavelli feel quite comfortable swimming, but the moment when he became completely submerged was still unnerving.

Niccolò allowed a small amount of his aura to create a pocket of air around his nose. He opened his eyes carefully, smiling at Dagon. The fish-man was watching him, his gills flaring as he breathed. He placed a webbed hand on the Italian’s face. Machiavelli’s heart fluttered at the touch. Dagon leaned closer, pressing his lips against Niccolò’s. The immortal melted into the kiss, wrapping his legs around Dagon’s hips as the fish-man gently swam through the water.

Eventually, Machiavelli’s air ran out, and he gently tapped Dagon’s shoulder to get his attention. His partner swam back up to the surface of the pool to allow the Italian to breath. When his head was above water, Niccolò gasped for air, holding on to Dagon tightly.

“Are you alright?” the fish-man asked, his voice soft as he looked at the immortal. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Machiavelli said, resting his head against Dagon’s chest. He listened to his partner’s steady heartbeat. “I love you,” he murmured, running his hands down Dagon’s back. His scaled skin felt smooth to the touch. The fish-man hugged Machiavelli close to his body, and rolled onto his back, floating on the surface of the water. “I love you too, Niccolò,” he said.

Machiavelli sat up carefully, holding on to Dagon’s shoulders, his legs on either side of his partner’s waist. “Don’t fall,” Dagon warned, as the Italian struggled to stay on top of him. “If I fall, you will catch me,” Niccolò smiled, leaning down to kiss Dagon on the forehead. “Yes, but I would rather not have to,” the fish-man remarked, his glassy eyes looking at Machiavelli with concern.

“You worry about me too much, _amore mio_ ,” Niccolò whispered. “Someone has to,” Dagon said, laughter bubbling in his throat, “Now please lay down.” The immortal gently tried to lower himself on top of his partner, but his hands slipped on Dagon’s slick skin. With a shout, Machiavelli splashed into the pool. As the water closed around him, he started to panic, trying to grab on to something. Dagon dove down after him, his strong arms wrapping around Niccolò’s chest as he pulled the Italian out of the pool.

“Niccolò!” Dagon knelt down beside the immortal, “Are you okay?” Coughing up water, Machiavelli groaned, “Please don’t say that you told me so.” The fish-man chuckled, “Since you already know that I did, I won’t rub it in.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Niccolò muttered, sitting up. Soaked, he shivered as the air hit him. Dagon draped a dry towel over the immortal’s shoulders.

“You humani really are not made for the water, are you?” he said, kissing Machiavelli on the cheek. The Italian frowned, “I assume that you consider that to be a flaw?”

“No, I was just making an observation,” Dagon murmured, moving closer to Niccolò, “It is just interesting. For so long, I was used to everyone around me being... like me.”

Machiavelli hugged his partner, “I’m so sorry, _caro_ _mio_. If there is anything that I can do for you, let me know.” The fish-man smiled sadly, “Unless you can turn back time, I am afraid that there is nothing that you can do to help with this.” Niccolò caressed Dagon’s face, “You can talk to me, if you want to.”

Dagon closed his eyes, his expression pained, as the memories of his lost home washed over him. Machiavelli gently took the other man’s hands in his own, “I am here for you, my love.”

“Thank you,” Dagon whispered, pulling the Italian into an embrace. “May I kiss you?” Niccolò asked. His partner nodded, and Machiavelli wrapped his arms around his shoulder’s, pressing his lips to Dagon’s. The fish-man pushed the immortal to the ground, returning the kiss fervently.

Niccolò looked at the other man thoughtfully. “Are you happy with me, Dagon?” he asked softly, “I know that I am not... an ideal partner. And I can be difficult to live with, not to mention the fact that I am a human...”

“Niccolò, I love you,” Dagon murmured, running a hand along the side of Machiavelli’s face, “And I am happier with you than I have been for centuries-”

The immortal smiled, “I am glad to hear that.”

“-though you are a bit soft.”

“What?” Machiavelli laughed. Dagon attempted to keep his expression neutral, “I’m just saying, as a humani, you are much softer than I am.”

Niccolò looked indignant, “I don’t complain about your slime.” The fish-man chuckled, “That’s because you like it.”

“I-I don’t...” Machiavelli blushed, grinning despite himself. Dagon laughed, “I know, I’m irresistible.”

“Oh, shut up,” the immortal muttered, snuggling up to his partner’s chest. The fish-man hugged Niccolò tightly, “You know that it doesn’t matter to me that you are humani, don’t you?”

Machiavelli mumbled under his breath. Dagon looked at him, “Niccolò, are you listening to me?” He tilted the Italian’s chin, so that their eyes met. Machiavelli pursed his lips, “I just don’t want you to feel an obligation to stay with me if you don’t want to.”

“I stay because I care about you,” Dagon murmured, “You are my world, Niccolò.”

“And you are mine,” the immortal whispered.

Dagon kissed Machiavelli’s neck, sending a shiver throughout the Italian’s body. Niccolò let out a quiet moan as his partner gently nipped his skin. He was suddenly very aware of Dagon’s weight on top of him, and shifted slightly. Noticing the movement, Dagon looked at Machiavelli, “Do you want to stop, Niccolò?”

“No,” the Italian said, “please keep going.” Dagon kissed him again, “How far do you want me to go?”

Machiavelli chuckled, “Perhaps we should move to the bedroom?”

“Oh, _that_ far?”

Pinned beneath the fish-man’s body, Niccolò gazed up at his partner. Dagon’s sleek brown skin gleamed with iridescent colours. “You are so beautiful,” Niccolò whispered.

Dagon laughed, “I have never heard that phrase directed at me before.”

“I’ll have to use it more often, then,” Machiavelli murmured, tracing Dagon’s jawline with his fingers. The other man made a low growling noise deep in his throat, a sound that would have seemed threatening to anyone who didn’t know the fish-man as well as Niccolò did.

“So what do you say, _amore mio_?” the Italian whispered, softly kissing Dagon’s lips. “Well, I _have_ been trying to get you to go to bed,” his partner said, smiling.

Dagon moved so that Niccolò could get up from the ground. The immortal chuckled quietly, “I’m sorry that I interrupted your swim.” The fish-man shrugged, “I would rather spend time with you anyway.”

“Shall we?” Machiavelli asked, gesturing towards the door. Dagon gave him a mock bow, “As you wish.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
